


Who should against murderer shut the door,

by lightraze



Series: And they turn away the cameras and scream/"kill, kill, kill" [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Battle of Vulcan, Capture, Darkness, Espionage, Inspired by Shakespeare, Literature, M/M, Military, Multi, Orionverse, PoW, Slavery, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28462395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightraze/pseuds/lightraze
Summary: This is the story of James Kirk and Spock, set directly after the ending of STXI. Chronicles of the vaunted 5-year mission. Weaves in episodic tales as well as alternate universe shenanigans. Their very first mission encompasses the rescue of a Starfleet officer from a notorious Orion Syndicate clan, but as typical, they prove to bite off more than they can chew. Ensemble, K/S.
Relationships: Amanda Grayson/Sarek, Frank (Star Trek)/Winona Kirk, George Kirk/Winona Kirk, James T. Kirk/Spock
Series: And they turn away the cameras and scream/"kill, kill, kill" [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084769
Kudos: 5





	1. We are only as strong as our signal.

**Author's Note:**

> i. features _lightraze_ as kirk and _Aluinn_ as spock  
> ii. [cover](https://i.ibb.co/2vhLfx5/cover-1.png)

She's even sleeker the second time. The ship, obviously. The ship. Heading up to the _Enterprise_ in that detached shuttlebay from low orbit the second time-? Slingshotted across _McKinley_ and straight into the unknown. It's just as exhilarating.

When the turbolift doors open this time, Jim Kirk steps out onto his bridge. It's obvious the crew turn to him-look to him to be a leader, to snap orders and make judgment calls, but Spock observes from his seat at the science station that _Captain_ Kirk is a great deal more lackadaisical about protocol than even he could have anticipated.

There's some things you just _think_ people will do, and Jim does none of them. He flits between Sulu and Uhura, chatting with them both about the minutiae of their lives-sharing articles on mycobacterium with the former and firing back a rapid joke in Klingon to the latter-and when he passes Chekov he flings up the holographic touch-monitor to make a tweak to one of his scrawled equations, clapping him on the back when he sputters indignantly.

It's no secret James Kirk is liked, but whether or not he's _effective_ -not in a crisis, not when the world is ending-but as the stalwart head of a Federation starship, day in-day out-that remains to be seen.

He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs at the knee, when Nyota announces that an incoming communique requests Kirk in his ready-room. "It's for captain's eyes only, sir," she adds when he tries to toss it onto the viewscreen.

Rolling aforementioned eyes, Jim heaves himself up to full height and offers his team a sheepish smirk. "We'll get out of here soon enough. Back in a flash," he offers a two-fingered salute before disappearing for some time. People don't talk to nor interact with Spock the same way. He's treated with more reservation, even wariness. People are far more intimidated by Spock than they are by Jim.

Upon returning, his gaze is hardened, a resolve thicker in the air where it wasn't before. "Where are we on Control's departure checklist?" he asks of Spock as he strides across the bridge.

It seemed fitting that losing the one who had given him his Human half would elicit such a human response. Still, Spock had spent the better part of the time since his mother's death concentrating on extrapolating, assessing and carefully picking apart those feelings. It was illogical to allow one's self to be endlessly fraught with remorse and regret over a thing that one could not change.

And yet.

There were distractions, at least. He had spent time in a position at the Academy teaching advanced phonology and interspecies ethics, courses to which he had devoted much time and research to perfecting the curriculum. He found satisfaction in teaching them.

Sometimes he wondered if that was what his mother meant when she had asked him if he was 'happy.' Was satisfaction the equivalent to happiness? Unfortunately, interspecies ethics did not delve particularly deeply into cross-species allegory or cross-cultural comparative theories.

Other distractions provided themselves as well. Forcefully and obnoxiously.

He reminded himself with solemn impassiveness that James Kirk had enough benefits in the position of Captain to outweigh his many, many flaws. It might have been pertinent to find a more rounded candidate to take up this role, but odd as it was, Spock found himself relatively confident that Captain Kirk could stand up to the expectations of their mission. Especially with a first officer as competent as himself.

Kirk's brief foray into his ready-room had visibly soured his previously light mood and Spock couldn't help but arch a brow, "Exactly where we are meant to be." he assured the Captain, only partially facetious, given that they were, indeed, exactly where they were meant to be on the list. They ran a tight ship, after all.

"Say a little _hallelujah_ to Control, Spock," Jim shoots back and that's for-sure facetious, a multi-layered statement that no one else on the bridge but his Vulcan first officer would appreciate for what it is, something Spock has noticed is exceedingly common in his captain's modalities of speech.

Said interspecies ethics course had been attended by Jim faithfully, in a striking contrast to their first meeting, Jim had finished his academic season with nothing but dedication, even if his jocularity doesn't jive with everyone. ( _Jive, vibe, y'know_ -and other words that Kirk taught him, in the name of interspecies cooperation-but quite frankly these very-human words were precise enough to apply.)

"OK, Mr. Sulu, if you want to glide over for a second-" Jim hops down from his chair and pats Hikaru on the shoulder. "I'm going to input some coordinates-" a few trills later and the computer confirms lock. "I know, I know," he holds his hands aloft at the sharp offense on his pilot's features. You didn't mess with another man's work station, but Jim evidently did.

"Sir. This is in Orion territory. What's going on?"

"So we're on a little bit of a detour. Intergalactic espionage is probably not what you all signed up for, but I trust we'll put our very best foot forward. A Starfleet officer's been captured by one of the high-status Orion clans, and we're working with another to secure their release. We'll be headed to _Relar_ station for docking, and I'll update you as needed. This mission is classified TS-clearance only, so keep speculation to a minimum. Or a nothing. Probably that one. And we'll link up, later," he points a finger-gun at Spock.

Spock stood, his brow creased with concern- not visibly. Not to anyone who didn't know Spock's face with absolute familiarity like Kirk did. To Kirk he was practically frowning.

"Perhaps we should _link up_ now, Captain."

" _Yeahhhh_ ," Jim drawls with something resembling a sigh, waving Spock over. "We probably should. All right, Lieutenant Uhura you have the bridge. Mr. Sulu, punch it. Let's get where we need to go, people." The rumbling engines kick to life under their feet and everything around slows, before a burst of extra-white light hits the viewscreen, a comforting fuzz letting them know they've clicked into FTL. The doors to Jim's ready room hiss shut behind them. "All right, tell me what you're thinking."

"Do we not have more—equipped diplomats to address this concern?" He asked once the doors were closed. It was a rhetorical question, because Spock knew full well there were more experienced diplomats who had connections in Orion space- a place as yet un-initiated (and likely never to be, given their propensity for violence, slavery and other non-negotiables) with the Federation.

Jim drops himself into the chair behind his desk, steepling his hands together in a triangle and resting his chin on collected fingertips. "Nobody's equipped for this, Spock," he murmurs softly. "Orions don't have diplomacy. Not like we do. You're either in the shit or you're not. I will make sure that this ship, and this crew, are safe, but I need you to have my back. As long as you do, I have complete faith in our ability to handle this, but you're right. It's not _Shiny Happy People_ out there."

He arched a brow, "I disagree, Captain. Orions have diplomacy, it is just not of the same nature that more culturally evolved species share."

Jim snorts, but diplomatically ( _coff_ ) refrains from commenting. Those sensitivity seminars must have paid off somehow, or-as is James T. Kirk's modus operandi-and exceedingly more likely-whatever his opinion is, isn't the mainstream at all. "Everything I know about Orions tells me that their capture of a Starfleet officer was accidental, not intentional. Orions usually don't risk the Federation's ire, not when there's a plethora of less troublesome resources available. The only problem is they're unlikely to have believed him when he identified himself as such. The downside of such a wide berth-everyone else says the same thing. We're looking at Orava, but we're dealing with the _More Culturally Evolved Guys_ , Rayyah. Our man's unlikely to have been significantly harmed, at least as of yet. We're betting on Rayyah getting to him before that happens, but it's possible we will have to intervene to make that a reality."

"And what will Rayyah be owed for this act?" He arched a brow, skeptical.

"The favor of a starship captain never hurt anyone," Jim returns wryly.

"Captain, it is exceedingly unwise to owe an open-ended favour to an Orion clan."

"No _shit_ , Spock," Jim rolls his eyes. His lips press together again, bright blue eyes dimming slightly. He clucks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "I guess that'll be Starfleet's problem, if and when it becomes relevant. And by _Starfleet_ I mean me, but potato, tomato. Right now, our primary concern is Commander Narae."

"Commander Narae?" He arched a brow, barely refraining from correcting Kirk's _tomato-potato_ idiom.

His hand flips somewhere to his left. "Our guy. Dr. Kes Narae. Originally stationed with the USS _Epperson_ , he took some time off to help out with a clinic near the Talarian border and wound up-well-snatched."

Spock nodded once, "Are they retaining him for ransom?"

"I don't know. With Rayyah it's more cut and dry. They'd be using him for his skills, he'd probably be doing the same thing he's doing with us. Orava are less discerning. He's probably in the mines or a pleasure house somewhere. So yeah, we're _working_ on it. Favors be damned."

"So his location is as yet unknown." Spock surmised, clearly unimpressed with the supposed help that Rayyah was offering.

"As of yet, yeah," Jim sighs, blowing out a long exhale. "I'm guessing it's contingent on my actually showing up."

"So the Rayyah already deal in poor faith." Spock's expression was as flat as it ever got.

"You can't tell me you're _surprised_ ," Jim points out dryly. "Look, I get it. But right now we don't have a better option."

"Very well." Spock agreed, seeing as he _wasn't_ surprised, "I trust we will coordinate toward a better option."

"I very much doubt it," Jim tells him honestly. "I don't see the alternative where we don't go into this. Do you?"

"It is our _duty_ to go into this." he told Kirk, "However, I believe a better alternative is discoverable."

"Not a fan of no-win scenarios, Mr. Spock?" Jim's eyebrows bounce up playfully.

Indignant, Spock lifted his chin a fraction, "I merely do not believe this is such a situation, sir."

"Optimistic. I like it." Jim practically winks at him.

Spock's lips pursed, the faintly green hue beneath the pink of his flesh rose to the surface at the corners of his mouth, "I will begin preparation immediately."

And escape this ready-room. He turned to leave.

"Spock-" Jim raises his hand, and he looks decidedly uncomfortable. "There are a few things you should know about this mission. And it can't leave this room."

Spock turned back, his expression settling to a neutral one that Jim recognized as oddly open, given the practical tantrum he'd just had. His head twitched ever so slightly to the left, an unvoiced invitation to continue. Unspoken agreement to confidentiality.

"Oh, fuck," Jim laughs, though. "And you should probably just not mention this to anyone, either. And by _probably_ I mean _treason_ and other fun words."

He arched a brow, "Perhaps you should say whatever it is you would like to say, Captain."

"Shut up," Jim shoots back, sticking out his tongue. "The reason it's us and not someone with better diplomatic contacts is there is no one with better diplomatic contacts." Jim jerks a thumb to his own chest. "And I'm guessing Starfleet Intelligence took that into consideration when promoting us to the honor."

Spock simply blinked at him, uncomprehending. Assuming more would come to explain whatever nonsense Kirk had just spouted.

"We should _definitely_ play poker sometime," Jim adds, grinning. "Just-Orava and I have history. SFI and I have history in particular. I've been through this song and dance before. We'll get our man."

Spock's face was, perhaps surprisingly, blank. Unreadable.

"History?" he inquired simply.

"History, yeah. It's nothing so tragic. Mission shit. Typical shit." Yeah knowing Jim it was literally anything but. "Just suffice it to say we weren't picked at random."

"Captain, if I may, this is your first mission. What history could you have?" his brows lowered slightly, the nearest thing to a frown.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Jim groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can't really go into it, and I'm not trying to hedge. I mean _I can't_. I'm already breaking about fifty regulations, including the _Fun Treason Ones_ , telling you this much."

Again, his lips pursed.

"Very well." his tone almost seemed clipped, "I will begin preparation now." since it was not longer 'immediately' given this brief foray into... well, Spock wasn't really sure what it was. Information only not. Insinuation void of context which only left room for abject speculation. A rabbit hole into which Spock resolutely refused to dive.

Jim gives him a nod back, his own lips pursed, but less out of irritation and more resignation. "We've got this," he lifts his chin slightly. By the time Spock is leaving the room he barely hears Jim utter under his breath, "at least I _think_ we've got this."

He was very reassured.


	2. The chest and the head divided by a white laser

Spock set to work immediately drawing up all information he could find on all of the Orion clans that Jim had mentioned in their officially-unofficial meeting.

He dove into the disjointed practices of trade, espionage and business that the clans collaborated and warred through. It was all very savage and Spock found himself more than once distracted by thoughts of Kirk's supposed 'experience' with them.

His replicator had been on the fritz for some time- having slated his own repairs after the more important ones of the crew- so he was forced to leave his quarters to retrieve tea from the main mess, despite having quite buried himself in his work by this point.

"You know, I _keep_ telling you to get that thing fixed," Jim grins at him all sunny smiles and bright, gleaming eyes as he hops to fetch his own order from the replicator-something rather unappetizingly called _taco pizza_ from Jim's hometown, so-he-says. "How's the preparations?"

Spock declined to comment on the 'meal' Kirk had chosen.

"Tedious." He told Kirk as he inhaled some of the delicate steam lifting from his mug.

Excuse you it is literally the most nutritious and normal meal Spock has ever seen how even _dare_ him.

" _Theris'masu_ , yeah? I recognize the smell," Jim indicates the tea Spock's drinking. It's the first time Vulcan's ever come out of his mouth, at least as far as Spock is aware-Jim certainly never asked _him_ what it meant. "What've you found so far?" he glances up from his own beverage, a blinding cup of Betazoid _haisha_ powerful enough to kickstart the dead.

"The bartering and diplomatic tactics of these clans varies widely and seems often to depend on the whim and mood of said clan's leaders." Which was maddening, for a man who relied on scientific systems that followed logical progression.

"That's Orions for you," Jim huffs. " _Kolar_ doesn't have governments the way we think of them. You ever hear the old joke, _how can you tell an Orion merchant ship from an Orion pirate ship? If it's got weapons, it's a pirate ship_. As long as you don't act like a steel rod's jammed up your ass by Starfleet Command, they'll probably respect you. Vulcans are good at keeping _cluros._ "

He waited patiently for the tea to cool, not one to burn his lip on the first sip, "Vulcans keep their word." He agreed with the faintest sniff.

Jim keeps whatever thoughts he has about that to himself, but he meets Spock's eyes over the rim of his mug. "So we'll be landing on _Relar_ in four days, so we'll have a little time to strategize. My contact's this guy," he slides over a touchscreen PADD with an image flickering to life as Spock wakes it up. It's a man who appears Vulcanoid, but the beaded dreadlocks in his hair and his clothing-style make it obvious he's Rigelian. "Kijja Seshanshaya, one of the patriarchs of the Heart clan of _Viltan_ , one of Rigel's southern countries. He has a history of brutality, as does his father, but his wife influences his policies significantly in the area. It's advantageous to him to have a good relationship to the Syndicate, so if we get on his good side, there is a good chance we can resolve this without any bloodshed."

"I presume you have some idea how to get to that 'good' side?"

Jim's fingers drum the table rhythmically. "Water. Lots and lots of water. And if that doesn't work, I don't know. Maybe he likes juggling."

"Your lack of certainty on this matter is concerning." He informed Kirk.

" _OK_ , hotshot," Jim raises his hands. "I don't hear you coming up with any brilliant solutions, so we're going to have to try it my way. And it's not a terrible plan. _Han'shir_ is the hottest part of Rigel, they lack Federation resources and technology, it'll _probably_ work."

"A hydrogen transformer may be an acceptable answer." He agreed thoughtfully, "However juggling is an untenable second option."

"Is _not_."

"I assure you Orions are not impressed by circus acts - their forms of entertainment are far more... diverse." he eyed Kirk as though expecting the Captain to correct him. Since he had so much ~experience.

"Good thing Kijja isn't an Orion," Jim shoots back dryly. "Although I'm betting he's probably got the same appetites. Rigelians, man. Now there's a people who know how to party."

"They have similar roots." Spock agreed, not going to far as to comment on the partying practices of the Rigelians.

Jim hums idly, taking a long sip of his drink while mulling over the real issue at hand thoughtfully. " _Mentsh trakht un gott lakht_ ," he murmurs under his breath.

"Pardon?" Spock eyed Jim's mug.

Jim grins brightly. "It means sometimes you have to get in there and figure it out, so that's what we'll do."

"Indeed." Spock did not sound convinced but he did sound as though he acknowledged that he would not be changing Kirk's mind any time soon. Which meant he'd have to do his own research and formulate his OWN backup plans.

Jim reaches over and pats his arm. "We'll make a plan. We'll make thirty plans if you want. Examine everything from every angle ad infinitum. And I want you to keep doing what you're doing. The more we know about everyone involved, the easier that will be."

Spock blinked. His deep brown eyes shifted to his arm where Kirk's hand had connected and for a moment he looked mildly alarmed- just a flicker of it in the way that his brows twitched.

"Very well." he agreed, "I will have a report for you by o'nine hundred."

Jim stands, collecting his tray with his half-eaten pizza disaster. "I await with bated breath," he gives a wry two-fingered salute before picking up his mug. On the way out he interjects between two crewmembers who both burst into laughter at something inaudible Jim's spoken, an off-hand joke, a meaningless triviality.


	3. Life must continue, we are fighting barbarians, but we must remain human

The rest of their shift goes uneventfully, but in the morning, when Spock taps on the door to Jim's ready room, it just chimes a few times without response.

Odd. Despite Kirk being an endless series of frivolous interactions with the crew, a mask of lackadaisical charisma, he is prompt and dutiful. It is odd not to find him where he ought to be.

Spock tried again.

After the next two times the door shoots open, mostly due to an automatic timer and the combination of Spock's code. What he finds isn't worth losing sleep over, but it's clear Jim isn't losing any sleep-because he's passed out on top of a stack of open binders, pamphlets and PADDs, his monitor blinking the Federation screensaver on opposite ends.

He abruptly opens his eyes and sits straight up, clearing his throat and narrowly avoiding knocking over a mug. And Jim Kirk's necessity to always be in motion, moving, searching, striving, seeking-it's doubly absurd to see him fall asleep at his desk, but there it is.

"Oh my g- _oh_ , what? What time is it? Are you- _kidding_ me-?" he laughs, scratching the back of his neck. "I must've been burning that midnight oil a little too hard."

It was like a perpetual motion machine grinding to a halt before one's eyes. Theoretically, it couldn't _actually_ maintain perpetual motion. One had to reset the contraption now and then. But it was another thing to see it happen.

"O'nine hundred." Spock responded and stepped inside to allow the door to close behind him.

Jim waves him in, picking up his abandoned mug and taking a swig before making a face. "Yeugh," is his helpful response. He stands and moves to the food synthesizer, placing his mug underneath for a refill. "Come in, come in. I was just going over some data points of my own. What've you got for me?"

Spock set down a data PADD on Kirk's desk, "I've organized a report."

He picks it up and idly peruses it, flicking through the screens idly. "All right, recommendations?"

"Hydrogen recyclers are a good first option. Affordable and simple to train for maintenance. Secondary would be transport- there's a reliance on underground transport for chemical goods but we could offer lighter containers for better shipment times."

Jim's eyebrows shoot up. "That is really good," he snaps his fingers. "We could probably create some kind of compression algorithm for more storage space inside, too. I knew we'd make a good team," he beams, genuinely pleased.

Spock arched a brow, "Perhaps. The success of our efforts remains to be seen."

"What happened to that sparkling optimism?"

"As far as I am aware I have never sparkled."

"Not with that attitude," Jim jokes, leaning back in his chair. "I mean, the best, most effective tool we could trade would be weapons," he throws out, lips pressed together flatly. "Maybe personnel. Maybe infrastructure. Maybe an audience with the Federation Chamber, take another look at the dividing lines between Rigelian-Federation interests. I mean, I could make a case for all of it. And we still don't know if it would make a difference."

"Not weapons." Spock said firmly without hesitation.

"Obviously not," Jim groans, dropping his head into his fingertips. "I mean, I think we're avoiding the obvious, here."

Spock arched a brow.

"At the end of the day, we're probably going to have to go in their ourselves. Not-some Federation diplomatic Hail Mary, or asking nicely."

Spock hesitated, shifting gears, "Covertly."

"Yeah," Jim nods. "Covert, precise, quick. I mean we'll get as much out of our resources as we can, but we need to be prepared for the fact that might not be enough to secure Narae. The longer he's in Syndicate custody, the worse off he is, hands down."

"Perhaps the hydrogen modules could be used to serve as a... distraction."

"You want to go in covertly?" Jim nods, considering it seriously. "I think there's a way we can grab the best of both worlds. Two high-ranking officers getting backstabbed in a deal is our most legitimate option."

"You mean get captured on purpose." Clearly that wasn't what Spock had initially meant.

Jim clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, his expression making it obvious he can't really figure out what else Spock could have meant. His head tilts, inviting.

"Two teams." He explained, "One to offer the legitimate trade of the hydrogen recyclers and a second, covert in place should the offer fall through."

"We might have better luck going through the front door," Jim points out. It's not disagreement, but-much to Spock's surprise, Jim does take the time to examine things from multiple angles, and has demonstrated a knack for getting as much data as he can before coming to a snap decision.

"You are the one with experience." Spock allowed.

"And if it were just me, I'd do what I want to do," Jim agrees softly.

"Their expertise in subterfuge far outweighs our own." Spock added lightly. It was unlikely they'd be able to pull off a covert mission if the Orions were watching for one.

"I wouldn't bet on that," Jim mutters under his breath. "But you're right that the Orions will, and we can use that to our advantage. Make mistakes, pull amateur shit. They'll underestimate us. We would be a very valuable capture and if we appeal to their ego they'll feel like they've pulled in the big fish."

He arched a brow, "I do not believe I am well equipped for such— acting."

"We can't always operate within our comfort zones. Adapt, improvise, overcome, right?" Jim sounds positively unimpressed with himself at this point.

"Sir, if I may speak freely?"

Jim waves a hand.

"There is something you are not telling me."

"Yeah," Jim sighs. There's no point in insulting Spock's intelligence, but to be fair, that much was always obvious. He hasn't gone too far out of his way to obfuscate it. "There's stuff I'm not at liberty to say. Even to you. And no, I don't really want to throw you into this situation without all the information, so it's kind of a piss off."

"The lack of shared information could jeopardize the safety of everyone on this mission." He pointed out, though it wasn't an encouragement to break protocol, just an observation.

"Yeah, no shit," Jim sighs. It's not a problem with Spock, that much is evident. "Well I guess if I really wanted to keep it a secret you wouldn't be calling me out on it," he mutters to himself. He sighs. "My old handler is the one who reached out to me on this."

"Handler." He echoed, inviting expansion.

"Yeah," Jim nods. "Me and all my experience," he smiles tightly. "I've worked undercover before. I've worked with Orava before, as an independent contractor. When I was younger, and stupider. Even younger and stupider," he holds up a finger to dissuade Spock from interrupting wryly. "Considering you'll find out sooner or later, the lead on this is Admiral Kirk."

Spock blinked and digested that with a surprising amount of calm.

"I see." Which meant he didn't see at all but he DID understand why it was supposed to be under wraps.

"Yeah that's about where I am," Jim returns dryly.

It was helpful for Kirk to have that experience, he supposed, even if the implications thereof were, frankly, alarming.

"Very well, if you require further input from me on mission parameters I am at your disposal, sir." Spock stood.

"You play chess, right?"

Spock paused, "I do."

"We should get a game going sometime. You know, I bet you'd like chess boxing." He grins widely.

"I am unfamiliar with that version of chess."

"It's the best of both worlds. Victory by checkmate or victory by knockout. Mind and body," Jim taps his temple.

He arched a brow, "I believe I would provide an able opponent in either realm."

"Why do you think I asked?" Jim returns, his smile much more sincere this time around. "Oh, but there's a catch."

"A catch." He said a bit dryly, having anticipated something along those lines.

"None of that gravity differential shit. Fair and square, buddy," Jim smirks. "Unless you're afraid to give me a handicap."

"I am concerned to render you handicapped."

"Perfect," Jim claps his hands together. "So it's on, then? Meet you in the gym. 2000 hours."

This was a terrible idea.

Spock honestly didn't know why he said, "2000 hours, sir." And ducked out of the ready room.

Spock was not imagining the extra pep in Jim's step for the rest of the day.


	4. When enough people do enough things, however small they are, then change takes place

And he may have been slow on the uptake this morning, but he was at the gym at precisely 2000 hours.

As was Spock. In fact he opened the door for Kirk (or his motion activated the sensor, semantics) and they stepped in together.

"Despite your earlier parameters, Captain, it is unwise to adjust the gravity differentials."

"...It is?" Jim blinks at him, looking genuinely confused.

"I require them in order to maintain your safety."

"...Yeah, that was kind of the idea," Jim laughs. "Oh-oh!" he straightens up. "Oh, yeah-I mean, I'd definitely be down if you didn't wear grav-equalizers, but I kind of wanted this to be challenging for you, too."

It took a moment for him to adjust, realizing the miscommunication, "I will wear them." He sniffed, not wanting to let on that he'd assumed Kirk had a masochistic streak.

Jim just peers at him with a clear twinkle in his eyes, though. Surprisingly, though, he doesn't make any off-color remarks or references, he just nods and orders the computer to produce the two metallic bracelets and a chess board. "White or black? I figured we can start with 2D, so my infinitesimal brain can catch up." He picks up the flat board from the buffer.

"I know all of your grades." He reminded Kirk- well aware of the mans fantastic intellect. Spock fastened the bracelets onto his wrists neatly.

"You do not," Jim sticks his tongue out, as if affronted by that instead of flattered. "I'll give you first move, too," he decides magnanimously as he sets up the board lightning-fast.

"Very well." Spock made his first move with a pawn.

Jim only scans the board for a second before making the next move with his knight. "I still think we should go in through the front door," he says after Spock makes another move and he counters immediately. "Or at least consider it."

Spock is a machine. Predictable, but smart.

"And once we are in the front door?"

Jim on the other hand is completely random. Chaotic, nonsensical. It's hard to tell if he actually knows how to play the game. "We could go in with subdermal beacons. Find Narae, activate them and wait for remote transport."

Spock's tactics mostly relied on predictability of his partners moves. Kirk's methods were maddeningly erratic and Spock found himself working overtime to try snd compensate.

"They will likely scan for subdermal beacons." He pointed out, brow furrowed and eyes on the board.

"I know a thing or two about Orion scanners. I could configure ours around Syndicate standards. It's not fool proof, but what's the alternative? We watch, we wait, while he gets further and further away from Federation space. While this guy, who is a doctor, who is unlikely to have experienced more than a papercut during his tenure at Berkeley-"

"It does sound like the more sound of two plans." Spock allowed.

"It sounds like the plan where we do something," Jim implores. "I don't relish asking this of anyone, I can't guarantee a good outcome. All I can do is act, now."

"The team should also include security." It was happening now, Spock wouldn't fight the inevitable, he would instead do his best to ensure it went smoothly.

"Agreed," Jim nods. "But I don't want this to get out of control, either. We only take who we need. The bigger our team is, the less control we'll have. One security officer," he holds up a finger.

"Three of us." Spock seemed sceptical.

"We get in, we get out. That's going to be hard to do with a full away team complement." Jim's eyebrows arch.

That was true. If risky. Spock considered it while his eyes flicked over the chess board speculatively, "Very well."

Jim nods, rubbing the back of his hand over his face, which seems to move reflexively to smile, instead of glower or frown. "You're the first officer," he points out. "You don't have to come. I can just take two security thugs with me."

"I would be remiss if I did not attend such a profound diplomatic meeting." He pointed out sagely.

That makes Jim laugh. "I didn't figure you for a politician, Spock."

"I am a man of many talents." He said, dry.

"We'll see about that," Jim grins and slides his chair out, falling into a light stance, jabbing out playfully.

He eyed the board and then Kirk, "What has triggered the spar?" He was so lost on how this game worked, but knowing Kirk there was no rhyme or reason to it.

He just keeps grinning, which only serves to prove Spock's point. "Gotta keep you on your toes somehow. Put 'em up," he thwaks Spock lightly on the shoulder.

Spock stood, but unlike Kirk's classic put'em'up pose, Spock crouched in a classic Vulcan ready stance.

Jim seems to fight in a very standard, classic manner, almost predictable. He falters on his footing and Spock gets a good jab in to his stomach, which makes him laugh, winded. "Good thing we got the equalizers," he snorts.

"Indeed." Spock agreed with the faintest of smirks, spinning for another jab and a leg sweep.

Jim sidesteps, though, and this time he hooks his foot under Spock's knee and jams his elbow into his opposite shoulder, using his momentum and strength against him in a sudden, explosive flurry of movement.

Spock, to his surprise, hits the mat.

Jim is grinning down at him widely and holds his hand out to tug Spock back to his feet. "Beginner's luck," he promises guilelessly.

"Your skill should not be diminished by such flippancy." Spock scolded.

"That's _suus mahna_ , yeah? That stance, here." Jim mimics it as easily as if he's been studying Vulcan martial arts his whole life. "To be fair, I'm preferential to _D'Alik'tal_. My primary weapon is a staff, if you can believe that," he laughs easily. "We should 1 on 1 sometime, crew would pay good money for a showdown. It'd help boost morale." He spins to the side and falls back into ready, this time his smaller, compact form is like water, smooth and fluid and completely unpredictable.

Spock's eyes flicked over Kirk's form, begrudgingly finding no fault in it. His gaze lifted as Kirk dropped into another stance and Spock's brows quirked, "Not chess?" But again assumed the _suus mahna_. Predictable, if powerful and precise.

Knowing Jim, there were rules and regulations to the timing, but he was just making the whole thing up as he went along. "Each of us has two pieces," he says. "So, two rounds." That was probably not at all how it worked, but tomato, potato. Jim seems to fall back most easily on _silat_ , and when Spock starts to dig in and really expend effort he finds Jim almost impossible to connect with, his hands, arms and legs locked more often than not requiring him to back off. Unfortunately Jim's tendency to showboat gets the best of him and Spock nails him in the chest with an elbow, and it sure looks genuine when he slams into the mat. " _Welp_ , I think that's a draw," he wheezes dryly.

Spock straightened and offered Kirk a hand up- he hadn't so much as broken a sweat but his cheeks had the faintest green rouge to them.

"Probably stick to the basics, huh," he bats his eyelashes and grips Spock's hand, easily flipping himself back on his feet. He sits back down, studying the board contemplatively. "How're you finding it on board? The crew dynamics, things like that."

"Meeting expectations." He said as he studied the board, still trying to wrap his head around this 'game.'

"Good expectations or bad ones?" Jim's eyebrows arch.

"Expectations do not have inherent moral values." He was just a little smug.

"Well, no," Jim concedes, but it's skeptical. "But they can fall under an objective good or an objective bad. Meeting an expectation for xenophobia and stupidity is different from meeting an expectation for professionalism and competence."

"Unless the expectation for those inherently negative traits is one of minimal to non-existent." He pointed out, "An expectation does not necessarily mean it is one of substantial weight."

Jim picks up a piece and abruptly putting Spock in check. "Maybe, but having no weighted expectations at all is an indicator itself."

Spock was busy glaring at the board but he acknowledged Kirk with a sharp exhale, "Is it?"

"Sure it is," Jim replies, watching Spock watch the board. "For example, I have plenty of expectations of this ship and this crew. Some of them are good, some of them-people meet, and some are a little tetchy. There's instances where I just don't know _what_ to expect. It all means shit, impassive or not. You're the liaison to the crew; you're the one they're going to depend on, to mimic, to mete out discipline. Your job depends on crew relations, so I'm interested in how that's going."

Jim's eyebrows raise as Spock makes a move, which he immediately counters with hardly a breath in between.

Spock's gaze rose from the board, trying to subdue the irritation that he felt at Kirk's easy countering of his well-considered attack on the board, "I expect that the crew conduct themselves to the standards of exemplary Starfleet Officers of the fleet's flag ship. They are meeting expectations."

"So those are professional expectations," Jim notes lightly, his tone all-business. "What about personal ones?" His eyebrows arch. "You had the opportunity to go to New Vulcan, but you didn't."

"My duty lies with the ship and her crew." Spock said lightly. Too lightly. His eyes shifted back to the board to make his move.

Jim watches, his chin resting on steepled fingers. It's fairly evident even to the psi-null that he's contemplating; thinking, maneuvering, testing. But he doesn't say a word, just counters quickly when Spock does move, submerging them once-more into equal ground on the board. "Everyone on board this ship has a duty to both," is what he says, just-as-light. "Having a duty to this crew, as an XO, as a _leader_ , may not look quite the way you think it does."

"Are you implying that my dedication to this crew is sub-par?" He arches a brow but his eyes are glued to the board.

Jim lets out a grimace. "Spock, your _dedication_ to anything isn't my concern. I have absolute faith in you when it comes to that."

"Then I fail to understand the purpose of this interrogation." Spock says flatly, not bothering to make another move on the board.

Jim rolls his eyes. "It's not an _interrogation_. It's me asking you your personal opinion of what's happening around here. I rely on your judgment, Spock. So I need to know that you don't consider me _asking_ you whether our crew is performing beyond your empirical standards isn't construed as an interrogation."

His nostrils flare for the briefest moment, "Your crew is performing beyond my empirical standards, sir." He affirms, flat.

Jim's eyebrows lift again. "In what way?" he invites, holding out a hand.

"They exceed optimal operating standards in nearly every recordable fashion." He eyes Kirk's hand as though it may bite at any moment.

And just like that, odd as he is, Jim seems to drop it. And it isn't with dismissiveness judging by his pensive expression, he nods and genuinely concedes. "That's good," is what he says jovially. "I've thought so, too, but there's still a lot we need to get them on the same page about. A lot of them are still pretty raw."

Including the Captain. He doesn't say it, even if he is thinking it. Spock does have some social niceties, despite what people may think.

"Check."

Jim laughs at that, and makes a move which puts him out of check, triggering a spar according to his convoluted rules and he jumps to his feet, smirking like a predator. "Win's yours, Spock- _if_ you can knock me out here and now."

"I will not render you unconscious, Sir." He sniffs, indignant, "Brain damage, while not irreversible, is never wise to purposefully inflict."

"Like I'm not _already_ brain damaged," Jim shoots a finger-gun at him. "Well how about we settle for this. You take the grav-cuffs down an extra notch-" meaning that Spock's gravitational orientation would be even lighter than it already is, giving him a significant disadvantage- "and if you can knock me on my ass, you win." Never say Jim can't compromise!

He seems to consider it for a moment, then without answer, he moves nimble fingers over the cuff's controls to adjust them. With a nod, Spock crouches in ready.

This time, it _feels_ like Jim isn't fucking around, but Spock knows it has a lot to do with the grav-equalizers, too. It's playful, daring. Not that he isn't taking the spar seriously, but more-there's an ease of confidence, that nothing serious will _happen_. No broken bones, no black eyes, no bleeding. Spock's hands feel like they require infinitely more effort to operate, the way an astronaut does on an EVA outing, and Jim manages to deflect his opening jab with a high vertical kick, his foot lightly nudging against Spock's inner wrist to push it aside.

It sends a zap of electricity through his arm. Spock doesn't have a moment to analyze it, though; entirely focused on using his new momentum to sweep a leg at Kirk's ankles, expression set in concentrated stone.

Jim stumbles a bit, or at least he _appears_ to, and just when Spock thinks he's about to hit the mat he springs forward using the backs of his fingers to the ground, leaping up as though he were the one in zero-grav constraints, sending a powerful heel kick to Spock's shin. It's carefully aimed-not at his knee, that amount of force would debilitate him for real, but enough to cause _pain_. Jim tries to duck and jam his palm into Spock's opposing shoulder, in an attempt to twist him off-balance.  
  
He does twist Spock off balance, the pain thrumming through his shin enough to distract him. But he isn’t utterly helpless and grapples Kirk to yank him down to the ground.   
  
Jim goes down with an _oof_ and a laugh, smirking up at Spock. It's not the first time they've been in this position, he thinks wryly to himself. "Game, set and match, huh?" his eyes crinkle.   
  
“Indeed.” Spock stands with alarming speed, even with the cuffs on. His fingers nimbly turn them off and remove them all before he offers a hand to Kirk, oddly brusque.   
  
Jim grasps it firmly, hopping to his own feet with ease and folding his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. " _Told_ you you'd like chess-boxing," he adds, eyebrows raised hopefully. "I'll see you on the bridge, Commander."   
  
“Certainly, Captain.” Spock agrees before he all but flees the room- his step wasn’t faster than usual but something about the determination in his stride is telling to Kirk.


	5. Grudge because there's no mercy for thugs

Jim cleans up the room after them, folding the board under his arm and heading back to his quarters. It's certainly not lost on _him_ that Spock does a lot more running _away_ from him than is probably ordinary, but he's a _roll with the punches_ kinda guy.

They probably awkwardly interact over the next couple of days, but Jim gets a handle on that by insisting that Spock help him refine their plan to infiltrate Orava. Their contact Seshanshaya vid-comms them from _Relar_ just as they turn and point toward the _Silaz_ -system, indicating that their meeting was still a go.

Thus far their plan roughly consisted of Kirk, Spock and Ensign # 4 getting backstabbed in this deal, with Seshanshaya's cooperation (in exchange for said compressive containers and hydrogen tanks), to be on Orava's end of the hand-off between the two clans. In addition, Seshanshaya was able to get the name of the Slave Integration Leader from Rayyah, a Tandaran named Jack. Which definitely didn't sound like a Tandaran name, but who was Jim to judge.

_(I'm sure it'll be "fine.")_

"Mr. Sulu, nice and steady," Jim commands from his spot at the captain's chair, one leg crossed over the other as he watches the stars slowly reappear and the blaze of _Silaz_ 's sun reflect shadows off their viewscreen, bathing the bridge in golden-light.  
  
Spock spends a little more time meditating than usual. Not enough that anyone should notice- certainly not the Human members of the crew. It is an infinitesimal deviation from his otherwise strict routine- not that anyone is keeping track. He is professional and efficient and even, surprisingly, flexible in all their meetings regarding the upcoming mission. As though, perhaps, their chess-spar session had eased some of his rigid opposition to any of Kirk’s suggestions.  
  
Spock sits at the science station with his typical resting face settled somewhere between ‘bitch’ and ‘glacial.’ It is the look of a man about to embark on a dangerous mission.  
  
“She’s not bad to look at.” Sulu remarks idly, sometimes the white noise of chit-chat helps him focus on his steering.  
  
"Looking and living are _very_ opposing ends of the coin," Jim returns with a smirk, his chin lifting as the full breadth of _Relar_ station begins to fill their viewscreen entirely. It's all harsh angles and rusted metal, but it is _immense_ , well-suited to be the trading and capital hub of the sector.  
  
Jim rises, sharing a look with Spock. A buzzing electricity. _This is it_ , saturated through the air. "OK, Sulu, you've got the conn. Uhura, keep monitoring their communications as covertly as you can. Let's go quote-unquote _make a deal_ ," Jim ends on a light note, doing his best to bolster the crew's apprehensions about their mission.  
  
"As soon as we're on the station, you're all to report to Deep Space _K-5_ , warp 7. That's an order," Jim says firmly before Sulu can interrupt. "This is a precision mission. And we can't let a Federation ship fall into Syndicate hands. Spock, you're with me."  
  
Sulu doesn’t look particularly pleased about it but he’s a good officer. He’ll do as Kirk orders.

* * *

Raising his hand, he smacks the button to the turbolift and enters it alongside Spock. "I trust you've picked the best officer for the job?"  
  
In the lift, Spock nods, eyes trained on the seam where the doors meet with a nearly indiscernible hiss, “Lieutenant Prism.” He tells Kirk, a young female officer in security, one with a vaguely shady background not entirely unlike Kirk’s but without the inherent genius intellect to go with it.  
  
"Prism's a good choice," he replies, rocking back on his heels and gazing at Spock sideline. "And she may have a connection or two herself," he says, always looking for the bright side of things. "Tell her to report to the shuttlebay ASAP. Light gear, beacons injected. Shuttle flies down transporting the compression containers and hydrogen tanks to _Relar_ 's cargobay and we'll all meet back on the transporter pad and beam down to to the central promenade where Seshanshaya's awaiting our meeting."  
  
“Already done.” He assures Kirk, watching that seam in the doors with an oddly deep concentration.  
  
"You don't have some kind of _problem_ with turbolift doors, do you?"  
  
Spock's eyes slide over to meet Kirk's for a moment, "I do not."  
  
"I mean, we could always take the stairs."  
  
"The lift is fine." Spock intoned.  
  
"You _sure_?" Jim smirks. "People die in turbolifts, you know. It's a _thing_."  
  
“People die nearly everywhere.” He points out.  
  
"Maybe they die less often in Jefferies tubes than they do in turbolifts."  
  
"That is statistically incorrect." Spock assures him in a tone that suggests he has those very statistics filed away somewhere.  
  
“It is _not_ ,” Jim immediately insists.  
  
He slid Kirk a _look_ just as the doors hissed open on their floor. “I’ll bet my left toe that isn’t true!” Jim just yells at him down the hallway like a maniac.

"It is unwise to make reckless bets with body parts." Spock says, mostly to himself.

“I’ll bet both my left toes! Wait, scratch that-hey, _shut up_ ,” he rolls his eyes petulantly at a passing crewman, crossing his arms.

Spock walks away! This is not the first conversation that he has exited mid-retort by the Captain. He is sure it will not be the last, either.

Jim has never been MORE furious. He sticks his tongue out at Spock’s back, unseen, before going to prepare himself for their mission. And maybe grinning to himself, where no one can see.


	6. Ima Send That Bitch to College Ima Give That Bitch Some Knowledge

A short while later, in the shuttle bay, Kirk finds Spock and Prism overseeing the packing of their shuttle. Engineers work together to cart containers and strap them in with magnet bolts and grav-holders.  
  
Jim and both his left toes show up! He has a small backpack slung over his right shoulder, which looks nowhere near big enough to house any of the things they might need for a mission of this magnitude, decked out in jeans and a black shirt with a small telescopic stick nudged safely in between the strap of his kit and his shoulder. "All right, how are we looking?" He lifts his chin in greeting to Prism and Spock, giving the shuttle a solid smack on the side.  
  
Spock looks, well, like Spock had researched civilian attire and created the aesthetic straight from someone else’s closet. Very un-Spock-like. His pants are snug and his shirt isn’t quite... right.  
  
Prism on the other hand looks like she might be from the opposing team. Her hair is fire cracker red and her grin is near-maniacal. Her jeans have a slight sparkle to them with tie-died bleach spots. Her top is tight and low-cut and even with the jacket over top it’s easy to see that she’s _fit_.  
  
“Fit as a fiddle sir.” Prism says, avoiding looking at the first officer as though it may set her off in a snicker.  
  
On the other hand, Jim just smiles, something affectionate that doesn't belay teasing despite Prism's attitude, and he reaches into his bag to pull out a dark beige casual jacket. "Here," he murmurs, coming up behind Spock to drape it over his shoulders. "Try that, half-zip, tuck the first half of your shirt into your pants. Like this," he demonstrates on himself instead of touching Spock. "And we can probably do something with your hair," he adds, miming mussing up his own hair. "Little bit, yeah? Then-yeah, you're ready to go." He beams, warm  
  
Spock silently mimics all of Kirk’s demonstrations on himself, silently and only a little begrudgingly allowing that the Captain knows more about this than he does. Messing up his own hair doesn’t really work, though. It’s fine and pin straight and it falls right back into the sharp, Vulcan trim.  
  
Prism climbed onto the ship and settled herself in, looking at a PADD.  
  
It makes Jim smile, and he holds up his hand, seeking permission, before gently ruffling the sides of Spock's hair along his ears, and sweeping his bangs more to the side to create a less perfected look. "You got it," he grins, pleased. "All right, let's do this thing!" he hops excitedly through the shuttle doors and plops himself down in the pilot's seat. "Here's hoping, _rage, rage, against the dying of the light..._ "  
  
“ _Though wise men at their end know dark is right._ ” Spock murmurs idly as he taps through the preflight checks with liquid efficiency.  
  
" _My hero bares my side and sees his heart/he holds the wire from the box of nerves/praising the mortal terror/of birth, and death, two sad knaves of thieves-_ " Jim recites fondly as the shuttle lifts off the ground. "You like Thomas, huh? Any others?" he wonders as they exit the shield in a shimmer of blue light and soar off into unknown-inky-black.  
  
“I have studied a wide variety of poetry from many cultures and races.” He explains as they relax, their destination programmed in.  
  
"I like, read the backs of cereal boxes, so you have that up on me," Jim jokes with an easy smile. Spock knows it's bullshit; Jim can practically recite Shakespeare by memory and pulls out Szymborska quotes whenever he's feeling particularly antsy. "Got any favorites?"  
  
“You may enjoy Kelanna R’vell. A decorated Betazoid poet.” Since Kirk was all sorts of in touch with his emotions.  
  
Prism snorted from the back.  
  
"Oh, yeah, Lieutenant?" Jim snorts, looking back at her. "What's _your_ favorite?" His eyebrows bounce, playful.  
  
“Not really a poetry person, sir.” She informs the captain with a smirk.

"Favorite book? TV show? Cereal box?" Jim grins, gently guiding them around several floating asteroids. A sharp yawn cuts him off and he stands, lifting a mug out of the synthesizer with a spoon poking out of it, dark chocolate lava cake mixed inside. "What's Vulcan TV like?" he asks Spock, and holds up a finger. "And you better not say TV is illogical, mister."

“The pursuit of entertainment which does not enrich one’s philosophical, educational or logical pursuits is not a priority.” Spock intones without looking away from the console.

" _Yeah_ , but Vulcans are _sentient_ ," Jim points out, poking his spoon into his mug and eating it with gusto. "I mean, you have literature, you have _art_. And don't tell me it was _all_ produced before the Reconstruction." He pokes his spoon at Spock. "What's different about TV? Surely it _exists_."

“There are outliers in every society.” Spock argues without answering.

It makes Jim laugh, but it's not cruel. "Granted, _some_ TV is better than others," his nose wrinkles up. "I'd argue not all of it is illogical, though. And I'm _fascinated_ to watch a Vulcan soap opera."

“I do not believe there are any currently in production.”

"Oh, _false_ , buddy," Jim grins as wide as he can, brandishing an isolinear rod. "Now _this_ is the finest example of human production. Consider it a... training exercise," he has literally never been more shit-eating in his entire life.

Spock’s eyes slide over to the rod as though inspecting a particularly distasteful bug. “Are you ordering me to watch this, sir?”

Jim smirks, sly. " _Maybe._ Consider it a cultural anthropology lesson."

Spock’s eyes narrow the barest fraction but he closes his hand around the rod.

Jim shovels a spoonful of mug cake into his mouth. "All right, Lieutenant Prism, what's our ETA? Reckon we have time for a chess game or a nap or something?"

“Yes sir, six hours worth of chess might put you into a nap, though.” She muses, moving to take the controls and give her senior officers time to rest.

“You just haven’t been playing chess with the right people,” Jim winks at her, disposing his mug in the reclamator.

Spock has seconds thoughts to whether Kirk is the ‘right’ person to play chess with, given his bizarre and unpredictable rules for the game. Spock moves to the back of the shuttle to settle on a seat, eyes closed, calm and meditative as he goes over the mission outline in his head.

* * *

Jim goes to the synthesizer for another _haisha_ after a couple of hours and downs a chocolate bar before flopping along the long bench at the end of the shuttle, reviewing something on his PADD that sounds suspiciously like _Angry Birds_.

Not that Spock knows what _Angry Birds_ is, but his eye cracks open a sliver to watch Kirk.

At this point Jim has his feet up on the table and he looks over, offering a wave and a smile. "You want a shot at it?" he waves the PADD.

Spock’s brows twitch down to furrow and he snaps his eye shut, caught out. He was MEDITATING, Kirk. >:C

"Oh, come on. Video games are known to improve dexterity, hand-eye coordination, problem solving..."

“Video games which are designed for that purpose, yes.” He hummed.

"That's not what the studies say," Jim smirks. "All games. No matter what. And _this_ game was included."

“I would be interested in reading these studies.” Spock murmurs, of course, not interested in pursuing and exercising the conclusion of the studies, just reading the studies themselves.

"I'll pull it up when we get back," the captain replies warmly. "Actually this specific game was the focus of a really cool experiment designed to test whether or not surgeons improved their reaction time after playing, and it turns out they do." He waves the PADD. "It was even found to help relieve pain. Endorphin rush or something. Argh, _dammit_!" he curses as he loses his current level.   
  
Bored and irritated at it, he abandons the PADD, producing a see-through glass tablet and stylus, leaning against the window and doodling. His left leg is propped up on the dashboard opposing, and bounces slightly.  
  
Their trip pretty much proceeds like this the entire time, with Jim alternating between various areas of the shuttlecraft.


End file.
